Because of the War
by ghibli22
Summary: A first person POV for Romano during and after WW2. His thoughts as he fights and survives. Beware of angst. Spain/Romano
1. The Beginning

I hate this war.

I really, really hate it.

I don't even know who I'm fighting anymore. France, England, America? All I know is they're they enemy, and I've got a gun. I've got a gun, and my back is pressed against a dirt wall while I wait for the grenades to stop falling, and I pretend I can't hear the sound of my men dying.

I hate this war.

There's blood on my face. It's dripping down into my mouth from a cut right below my left eye. It tastes like iron. I wonder if it tastes like the tiny iron ball imbedded in my leg? Or the one that grazed my shoulder not two minutes ago.

You can't die when you're a nation. Our military calls us the 'immortal soldiers of hope', while I fight and they plan our strategy in comfort. If only they knew this was a curse, not a blessing. I can fight, but never die with my men. I can feel the burning pain ripping through my body like an animal's claws, but never feel the cool release of that endless slumber. No matter how badly I'm hurt; I will not leave this place. I may never heal; but I will not die.

Charging forward, I sometimes wonder who I'm fighting for. My brother fights for Germany, and in the end that potato-bastard ended up fighting for Veneciano too. Prussia just likes the war, and Japan's a natural loner.

But who do I fight for?

Who do I fight for?!

And the answer hits me as a bomb goes off in my face, and gunfire rings through the smoke-filled air.

I fight for no one, and no one fights for me.

I'm alone, always and forever.

I'm so alone.

That last hit sends me flying into a tree, where I slide down to the ground. Its covered in blood and shrapnel, and soon my own life's water adds to the mix. I think bone in my arm snapped or shattered. Maybe in more then one place. I don't really want to look; if I do I may throw up. I don't have my gun anymore. It must've gotten blown away, and now lies broken somewhere. Lying broken like me.

The woods around me are burning, and I can hear grown men crying themselves to death. Those lucky bastards. They can go up to heaven, be with loved ones in the clouds of bliss and white, while I stay here. Trapped in a living hell. The weight of the cross is heavy around my neck. With the last of my energy I raise my good arm and rip away the leather that holds it there, tossing it to the fiery earth. If I can never have what they've been promising, why should I bother to believe?

I hate this war. And the tears burning at my eyes I lack the ability to push out. There's so much pain. My whole body is covered in it and there's no way for me to escape. Its like I'm lying in a bed of needles, and covered with a blanket of thorns held together by hot wax. I want to cry out, but I can't do that either. Can't even move anymore.

There's a hint of blackness tugging at my conscious mind. I want it to come. I don't want to be in this place anymore! This goddamn place that stinks of the war. I want to be safe. I want to be home. I want to be held tight in someone's arms.

Spain… Antonio…

Maybe when the nightmare is over I'll tell him. Tell him all of the things I've thought and I've felt. All of the things my stupid pride has stopped me from saying. The things I'm feeling as I wish for a death that will never come. I'll tell him if I can still speak, if the smoke and the fire hasn't burned out my throat. I'll tell him that I love him, and I'll pray to the god that won't take me away that he'll love me back.

_So many people say 'a fate worse then death'_, is my last thought as the unconsciousness finally overwhelms me, _At this moment I can think of no greater gift_.

~*~*~*~*~*~

"Ro…!"

What? What was that?

"R…mano!"

Someone calling me? Out here?

"Romano!"

I can't see anything. The pain that refuses to go away won't let me see, won't let me smell or taste anything but my own blood. It hurts… it hurts… It…!

"Romano, thank god!"

I scream bloody murder as something or someone grabs my shoulder. The contact is skin upon skin, but it feels like someone jabbing a red-hot fire poker into my body. It hurts to scream but I do it anyway. I do it because I can, because it's the only thing.

In a second whatever it was is gone but I still scream. I'm fully awake now which means every ounce of pain has once again landed on top of me, smothering me, tearing me apart.

"Romano, please calm down!"

I hear my name but I don't answer. Instead I lash out, yelling even louder as I land on my broken arm. It could be the enemy and I can't allow myself to be taken. At all costs anything but that. I have to fight. I have to-

Another scream erupts from my raw vocal chords as someone ties my legs together so I can't move, and another tapes my arms to my sides. Ally or enemy, did they have to be so ruff? Wasn't I in enough pain?

A pair of strong arms lift my broken body from the ground, "Shh… Romano… Its okay. You're going to be fine. I promise, you're going to be fine."

No, I want to say, its not going to be fine. Because that voice belongs to Spain, and he can't join the war. It's too horrible. I struggle and struggle, every warning sign imaginable going of in my head, _No no no no no no._

"Romano…"

But the voice is so strong, so sure. It brings me down, until I no longer have the energy to scream. After such a long time the tears finally come, washing the blood from my skin.

_I love you,_ I think.

"I've got you, Romano. You don't have to be scared. It's okay to cry. You deserve the tears. You're going to be fine, I promise, I promise, I promise," he says.

_I love you,_ I think.


	2. The Middle

Spain is always in the hospital with me. I think he sleeps here too. I travel on the roads between waking and sleeping, but never opening my eyes. I've stopped trying to figure out if it's because I can't or because I don't want to. But I know he's always there because he's holding three fingers from my right hand. It's probably the only part of me that isn't too broken.

I learn a lot in my waking moments while Spain talks to the doctors or talks to me. I think he thinks that by talking to me I might get better sooner. But I guess that's the farmer in him. Talk to your plants to make them grow faster.

I learn that the bullet in my leg tore through tons of muscle; that I may never walk straight again. I learn that my arm is broken in three different places; that I'll be in a cast up to my shoulder for at least fifteen weeks while it heals. I learn that I'm dehydrated and malnourished, and being fed through tiny plastic tubes in the arm not covered by plaster. I learn that the smoke and debris damaged my lungs, so I can't breath on my own. When I concentrate I can feel the mask surrounding my mouth. I learn that I was burned, from the fire or the bombs they don't know. That it's all over my chest and my legs. I learn that the war's over; that the axis powers lost to the allies. I learn that my brother is all right; Germany was able to protect him. If he's all right that's fine with me, because the older brother is supposed to protect the other, right? I lean that if I wasn't a nation I would have been dead a long time ago.

I learn that I was lying on that battlefield, officially missing in action for over three months. Spain started crying when he told me, and his grip on my fingers tightened ever so slightly. I tried to move, even just a bit, but my body wouldn't listen. He told me that he couldn't help look for me until the war was over, because of pointless politics. He told me that he spent two of those three months waiting next to the phone incase someone else found me. He told me he almost threw up when they finally did. That he thought I had gone crazy, the way I was screaming and the mad and burning look in my eyes, the way I tried to fight them off and they way I dug my fingers into the ground. That he thought I was a lot worse because a lot of the blood wasn't mine.

He tells me that my back is almost perfect. I can practically hear his watery smile as be gently brushes the hair off my face, and wipes sweat from my neck and forehead.

"Only a few cuts and bruises," he said, "And a tiny burn on your left shoulder. The doctors had to make a hole in your cast so it could get all better sooner."

I want to tell him now. Tell him that I love him so much. But my mouth refuses to move. I try, god how hard I try. So instead I open one eye and look around. I don't really want to but I do.

The hospital is exactly how I pictured it. Sterile white sheets covering my body, while my leg is raised up and in a splint. I can't even feel any pain. There must be a million different drugs running through my system to keep it dulled.

"R-Romano?"

I move my vision so that I'm looking at him. There are dark circles under his eyes. _You shouldn't be here, dumbass!_ Is what I think,_ Go home and rest already!_ It would be just like it used to. Instead I slowly drift back to sleep, while Spain calls a nurse to tell them I moved.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Little by little I'm getting better. It seems hard to believe that it's been a month. I've been trapped for so long that even a tiny improvement is like a miracle. My waking moments are much longer now, and I can keep my eyes open to the world around me. Spain is always there when I look up. He smiles, and tells me I look much better.

I hate it when he lies.

I hate it that I can't curl up and be safe in his arms.

Sometimes I'll start screaming in the middle of the night. You could say it's the only time I have control over my own voice if the action wasn't involuntary. I've heard about this before, how in some cases it never goes away.

Battle fatigue.

War weary.

Posttraumatic stress syndrome.

Shell shock.

What ever else you want to call it.

At night I dream I'm back on the battlefield, and the gun is still heavy in my hand. I still have to fight, still have to step over the dead bodies.

I wake up thinking that bombs are falling on top of me, and grenades start exploding under my feet. I wake up and feel my leg ache even though the drug-induced haze. And Spain… he's always there for me when it happens. He runs his hand along my cheek to calm he down, and sings old Spanish lullabies from when I was a kid. Before the war I would have pushed him away, called him a bastard and tried to hide my blush. But right now I'm scared.

Scared that no mater how hard I try I'll never escape the war. Scared that the nightmares will never end. I'm so goddamn scared.

I wish he would hold me. I wish he wasn't scared of hurting me and would just hold me close so I can hear the sound of his heart beating. I wish he would call me Lovino, and I could call him Antonio in return. I wish I could tell him I loved him.

But right now I'm so scared I can't speak, I'm sure its plain in my eyes. I can't control what emotions play on that screen anymore. I can't even move to lean into his strong hand. I can only let the tears flow unabated across my face's canvas, as he worries and presses a kiss to the bandages at my hairline. The bandages covering the twenty-seven stitches.

And he squeezes those three fingers tighter.


	3. The End

I'm leaving the hospital today. Spain's taking me back to his house. Even though I can leave I'm in no condition to take care of myself. My left arm is in a sling and a lot of the burns haven't healed. I can't even walk yet. The doctor said not to try for at least another ten weeks.

I don't talk much, which I think freaks Spain out more then anything else. I used to always yell at him, curse him, occasionally be honest with him and myself. But now I'll just look at him, saying a few words here or there. Its as if I talk anymore I'll loose everything I've gained in the last four months, and the sanity I keep so perilously trapped will fly away. I'll fall apart again, and the dreams will return more then twice a week.

I had one last night.

It was the most horrible yet.

I was alone. The world around me was exploding but it was entirely silent. Tree's burst into flame, bullets whipped past my face, and not one sound escaped into the atmosphere. And then… then I saw him. Spain was standing there, trying to protect a wilting tomato plant from the fire.

He was blown away right in front of my eyes.

When I woke up I wasn't even screaming, although my mouth was open as if I was trying to. Spain was in the chair next to the bed, sleeping, as it was about two am.

"S-Spain-!" I tried to call him but my voice was dry and cracked. I tried to reach him with my good arm but it wouldn't work. I couldn't do anything but move. Twisting and turning on the sheets, trying to get some sound out of my throat. Knocking my leg out of its brace seemed to do the trick. I finally yelled, closing my eyes but snapping them back open as images of my dream came back.

"Romano!"

The idiot had woken up. I stopped screeching and looked at him, grabbing his shirt as he called for help. I pulled him down, wordlessly pressing my hand against his chest to check if he was real. Again and again: it was like I couldn't convince myself.

"S-Sp-Spain…" I wasn't even ashamed of how I was acting. I wasn't even aware of the tears that had become second nature

"Romano…" He wiped the water from my cheek, and brushed at my hair, "Wha… what's the matter I can't help if you don't say anything."

I curled my hand into his shirt and brought him even closer, placing my head against his body. I wanted him to hold me; I was trying to tell him. Tell him to put his arms around me and tell me everything was going to be all right. But it was all too much. Too much for me to say and too much for him to understand through actions alone, oblivious fool that he is.

"Antonio…" I softly sobbed into his shirt as a nurse lifted my leg back into its brace.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The raindrops fall heavily on the window of Spain's car. I watch them roll down and rub my hand against the smaller cast on my arm.

"I uh, I'm sorry it couldn't be a better day for you to come home, Romano."

Spain's' been trying to make conversation for the whole ride. But I just shrug or give simple answers like I do now.

"It's fine."

I can hear him sigh from the driver's seat as we continue on in silence. Pressing my head against the glass I quickly glance over at him. I know he's worried. I know that if I'm going to tell him, because I thought to myself before I blacked out on the battlefield I would, I'm going to have to talk. But the words won't come anymore. Like I'm a well that's suddenly run dry. My eyes are only half open, and I feel more dead then alive. Talking seems too real. So I just sit, and stare at the rain, watching it make tears run down my reflection's face.

I've changed and I know it. Nothing can ever go back to how it was. If anything has died it's the way I used to live, used to love. I miss those days. I miss them so much.

In no time at all we get to Spain's house. He gets out and runs around the car while I unclip my seat belt. Leaning down he places an arm behind my back and another carefully under my throbbing leg. Even with the pain killers I can still feel the hole where the bullet went in.

"Ready, Romano?"

He wants me to swear at him. To shout about how I can handle myself even though I really can't. I can see it in his eyes, read it in his movements. He wants everything to be normal again, just like I do.

But I don't think that can happen.

I nod and it kills him. No cursing his of his soul, no damming him to hell can bring his spirits down but me, lying only half healed and still very broken in his arms, I can make a frown briefly dart across his face.

Wrapping my good arm around his neck, I bury my face into his shoulder as he lifts, biting my lip when my leg shakes. I wish it was broken. Then it would be safe in a cast like my arm, instead of in this flimsy brace. He keeps moving, and I don't look up. I don't want to see this familiar place, these familiar things. Not when I'm so different.

"Uh, Romano?" he says when he sets me down on his bed, "You can let go now… Are you sleeping?"

I'm not but I pretend that I am, like when I was little and I wanted him to carry me somewhere. I'm hoping he'll stay: hoping that he'll lay down with me and be close. I don't make a sound as he carefully pulls away and places my leg on a pillow or two. Don't say a word as he walks to the door and flips off the light, leaving me alone in darkness.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Spain still sleeps in his own bed. It's a king-size so there's plenty of room. But I wish he would just come closer. I wish I could ask him to.

Every morning when I open my eyes he's already awake, looking into my face. His gaze snaps right to mine but I can tell he's been staring. At the scar left over from the stitches, the bruises that refuse to go away over my cheeks and shoulders, the tiny bandage under my right eye. I wonder if he thinks I'm ugly. I wonder if he's taking care of me because he wants to, or because he thinks he has to. I don't think I want to know the answer.

Once we're both awake Spain pulls the sheets down so my leg is exposed. He maneuvers it out of the brace and starts massaging it like the doctor showed him. Back and forth so the healing muscle stays loose and won't cramp up. His hands carefully move across the skin. Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes it hurts more when he finishes.

"Spain?" I say one day as he works on fixing me.

He doesn't look up from what he's doing; staying focused on my muscles, "What is it Romano?"

"…I… I love you."

And everything stops.

His hands freeze and I stiffen instinctually, fingers tightening around the covers. I close my eyes, and wonder what the hell I just did. But… I've already started so I have to keep going.

Without opening my eyes I continue, wishing his hands would start moving again, "On that… When I was trapped on that god dammed battlefield I made a promise. I promised myself that if I ever got out… I would finally say something. Say something if my lungs weren't to burned or my spirit wasn't too broken," I welcome the tears trailing down my face. I make no move to stop them. "I love you, A-A-Antonio," I hate that I stumble over his name. I _hate_ it, "I have for a long time: before the war or before I left you're house. I don't care anymore if you don't love me back but… if you could just hold me, at least once. Just so I can know I'm still here and… I don't even know anymore. Antonio please, I… _please_."

I don't think I've ever wanted something so much. I feel him moving again and I open my eyes, watch him carefully place my leg back into the brace.

He doesn't say a word.

And I don't hold back. I can't hold back.

I turn my head away into the pillow. I can't move any other part of my body without something hurting.

"I'm sorry, Spain," I say through the rain, "Forget it; nothing happened. I'm sorry I-"

"Lovino…"

I freeze upon hearing my real name, and feel him crawl across the bed to where I am. With the kind of delicacy one might use when handling a china doll he lifts me into his lap, lifts me into his arms. He doesn't speak, just places a hand on my head and places that against his chest. His other arm wraps around my figure (probably an easy thing to do since I've lost so much weight) and he begins to rock gently back and forth.

"Lovino, Lovino, Lovino…" he whispers into my ear, "Lovino, Lovino, Lovino…"

It's the best thing I've ever heard.

He presses his cheek into my hair, trying to keep me as close as possible without hurting me, "I was so scared, Lovino, I was so scared," he says to me, "Scared of you never being you again. So I'm never going to let you go. If you leave I don't know if I could handle it."

"Spain…" I start but he cuts me off, quietly brushing his lips against mine.

He grins, "Don't ever call me that again, okay? _Antonio_."

"Antonio…" I say slowly, testing it out in my mouth when I look into his face, "I think…"

I smile, if only just a little.

I smile for the first time in more then a year.

I smile because after all this time I'm finally safe, tucked away in _Antonio's_ arms.

"Things are going to get better."

Yeah.

I'm going to get better.

* * *

_An epilogue will come, I promise!_


	4. After the End 1

_I realize that I said this would be an epilogue but... I just feel so inspired by this that I've decided to make it longer. I'm not sure where it will go or where we'll end up, but I'll just let the writing take us there :D_

_Anyway, I wrote this as an epilogue originally, its a bit shorter then other chapters, but the rest will be at regular length!_

* * *

"A-A-Antonio?"

"What is it Lovino?"

"I don't think I'm ready to do this."

"Come on, Lovi," I grimace at the nickname he's given me, "Your not scared, are you?"

"Scared? Of course I'm scared! Wouldn't you be to?"

He kisses me and a little bit of heat rises to my face, "I wouldn't be scared if someone who cared about me was right next to me. And the doctor said you were ready for this at least two weeks ago. Most of your bruises are gone, after all."

I stop and cast my eyes down, rubbing the scar on my forehead and subconsciously feeling all the others, "Th-that doctor i-is an idiot," I say.

"Lovi…" He kisses me again, "I'll love you no matter how many scars you have. So won't you just try? For me?"

Taking a deep breath I put my arms on his shoulders, the left one long out of its cast. It still looks out of proportion with the other one. Smaller. More fragile.

I wonder if Antonio can feel me shaking as he maneuvers himself in front of me and places his hands on my hips.

"I've got you Lovino. I'll be here for you, supporting you. Are you ready?"

I bite my lip and nod, "I guess."

With a grunt he lifts me up off the bed so I'm balanced on one leg. I hold the other just above the floor, not wanting it to touch the ground. It seems like I'm off center because I haven't stood up too many times. Its like I have to re-lean how to keep my balance.

"N-n-never mind," I stammer out. The floor feels like it's moving beneath me, "Forget it. Put me back down. I don't want to walk."

"But we're already half-way there!"

"I don't care!" Squeezing my eyes shut I ball my hands into fists around his shirt. I'm more frightened of this then I've told him, "If I try I'm going to fall, d-dammit. I will."

His eyes look sad. It happens every time I try to walk and can't find enough courage to carry through. I think it reminds him that no matter how many bruises vanish from my skin or how many times I swear at him again, the affects of the war will never go away. It'll always be there now, in the white lines of raised skin over my body and the way I can't move my leg like I used to. It won't go completely straight without sending stinging pain shooting up the muscles.

"Okay, Lovino," he wraps his arms around me, and runs a hand through my hair at the back of my head, "Okay. You don't have to do this now. Walking again for the first time is hard: even the doctor said so."

"Yeah," I whisper, "even the doctor said so."

Why am I such a coward?

~*~*~*~*~*~

In the middle of the night I wake up and find Antonio's arm across my chest. I reach up and pull it tighter around me, taking comfort in the warmth. I like it when he holds me. It makes me feel like I belong somewhere.

I poke his chest, "Antonio, get up,"

"Lovi?" he yawns and rubs his eyes, moving closer to me, "What's wrong? Did you have another nightmare?"

"It wasn't so bad," I whisper into the darkness, "Just fire and the sounds of machine guns."

"Oh, Lovino…" giving me light little kisses he replies, "You don't have to act so brave about it. I'm sure they're really scary."

"I've had worse."

"… I know."

We both remain silent until I speak up again, "I want to walk."

He kisses me again, "I know, Lovi. And you will."

"I want to walk _now_."

I feel him shift under the sheets, "Now?"

"Antonio, I…" I'm nervous. Especially when I think about this. I push my head deeper into his chest, "I could have lost that leg. I bet they were pretty close cutting off the nerve signals altogether, right?"

Antonio stutters, "W-well for a w-while they…"

He doesn't need to say anymore.

"I want to walk… because I'm lucky. Lucky I still have all of my hands and feet. Lucky I can still try. Lucky I can still speak and lucky I'm not going to be in a coma for the rest of my life. I-I'm l-l-lucky…" It's hard for me to say, especially when a large part of me doesn't believe it, "So I want to do it. I want to walk."

"Okay, Lovi!" Putting on a fake smile he rises and helps me turn my body to the side of the bed. When I start talking about stuff like that hurts him almost as much as it hurts me. Almost. Like earlier that day he lifts me up so he's supporting most of my weight, "Ready now?"

I pause, "Antonio?"

"What is it?"

"Do you… do you love me?"

His eyes soften, "Yes. With all of my heart, _mi amor_. _Te amo_, Lovino."

I close my eyes, "I love you too, Antonio. _Ti amo_."

And I take my first step forward.

* * *

_This is not my favorite chapter but i hope you liked it! _


	5. After the End 2

Today is my first world meeting since the war. Everyone agreed to have it in Madrid so I wouldn't have to travel far. At least I've got that much going for me.

Before we left the house Antonio kept fussing around me: making sure I was warm enough or cool enough, adjusting the height of the crutch I'm using until I'm more confident walking on my own. I told him to stop, but I was glad when he didn't.

It's nice to know someone cares.

We're the last ones to arrive at the meeting even though it was so close. For a second we stand outside the doors, listening to the chatter within. One arm rests around Antonio's shoulders, while the other grips tightly to the crutch under my arm. His hand is around my waist. It feels good, safe.

"S-Spain " I say. We've agreed to still call each other by our nation names while at the summit. Even though we're already so close, it would be better for the world to get used to it slowly.

"What is it, Lo- Romano '

He's making mistakes already. I hope he can last through this. I hope I can even more.

I steel my eyes, "I want to walk in by myself. Just me and this damn stick under my arm."

Antonio wants to say something, to protest. I can see it. But he knows that I need to walk in there and face everyone by my own power. At least… I think I do. Maybe. I hope. I'm still so unsure. He slides his hand out from around my waist, smiles, steps forward, and opens the doors to the summit.

Predictably, almost every conversation stops when I come in. With Antonio following close behind I start to make my way across the room to the giant table in the center.

_Step… step, click._

_ Step… step, click._

My feet and the crutch make and interesting harmony as I limp to my seat. I keep my head down, focused on moving my own body forward. And I don't want to see the other nations staring at me. I'm almost to the chair, and if I look I'll stop walking.

With jerky movements I lower myself onto the leather seat, leaning the crutch against the table. Antonio sits next to me, moving his chair closer in case I need anything.

Someone speaks. Probably England since he's always trying to take control of these things, "Well then, uh… now that everyone's here lets get started, shall we "

There's a mumble of agreement and the process begins. Veneciano is sitting in the chair to my left. With a tiny smile on his face he leans close and hugs me, not too tight.

"Welcome back, brother," he whispers into my ear. I think he's surprised when I hug back. He hasn't seen me, hasn't seen how I've changed since the war.

"Thanks."

I look at Antonio who smiles and squeezes my three fingers under the table.

I look at the rest of the world, and every head turns back to England.

I think they're scared of me. But not in the way they used be, when I screamed and fought and cursed everyone to hell. They're scared of my injuries. They're scared it could happen to them.

Every nation has their scars. Its unavoidable with the shit we go through. But…

I'm the first one to go missing in action. I'm the first one who didn't wake up after six days of being in the hospital. I'm the first one who had to stay in that white prison for months upon never ending months. I'm the first one to have the nightmares that threaten to tear me apart.

I'm the first one where my injuries are permanent, where there's no guarantee that they'll ever go away.

The Allied Powers shift nervously in their seats.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The meeting is finally over. Absolutely nothing was accomplished. It's nice to know that some things stayed the same.

I wait for most of the crowd to leave before I let Antonio help me up. I slip the crutch under my arm again and slowly, carefully start to walk to the door. If you could call it walking. After sitting for such a long time the muscles in my right leg stiffened up, making my limping seem even more awkward. Antonio notices, and keeps an eye on my progress.

"Hey, Romano! How's it goin' "

And the next thing I know I'm falling. And I barely have time to scream before I hit the ground. But in the end I do scream, the sound echoing off the high ceiling of the meeting hall. I've only fallen down, but something inside yells into my head, '_Its happening again, why is it happening again, no!'_

"Oh my god, did you just see that "

"Wait, what the heck just happened "

"Like, that's totally not cool, y'know "

Voices circle around my head, but I can't hear them. There's only one that matters.

"Lovino!"

In seconds Antonio scoops me up and holds me against his chest, rocking me back and forth. My eyes are wide open, and my breathing is heavy, and fast. I'm so scared I'm shaking. Its like I can't stop. I'm not cold, I'm not cold why can't I stop shaking Never mind. I don't care. Just like I don't care where my crutch went when I fell or that Antonio screamed out my real name. I don't care, I don't care.

About a minute later he helps me to my feet, picking up the crutch from where ever it landed. He helps me get it under my arm, and wraps the other around his shoulders just like we were this morning. Turning, Antonio glares at whomever it was that pushed me down. I don't know. I'm just looking down at my feet.

"What was that for America " he hisses.

"W-well uh, I…" he stammers. Out of the corner of my eye I see him staring at his hand as if he'd never seen it before, "I-I just slapped him on the back, is all. Like I do to everybody when I'm sayin' hi."

I can feel Antonio's grip tighten around my waist, "Romano isn't everybody!"

Silence covers the remaining nations in the room. Antonio is still seething above me. No one wants to speak. So I do.

"What do you want " I ask softly, still looking down, "You've never wanted to say anything to me before so what do you want Or were you really being that much of an idiot "

"Oh, yeah! I did want you for something!" he starts to fish around in the pockets of his jacket, determination set into his face, "Here! I heard you lost yours so I thought I'd getcha a new one."

In his hands he holds a gold cross. It practically screams 'look at me' with its curled edges, and a tiny inlaid stone at its center. Big. Flashy. American.

Without a word I hold out my hand. He places it in, lets go of the chain…

And the cross clatters to the floor as I let it slip through my fingers.

Nudging Antonio he helps me hobble out of the room, watched by what remains of the world.

* * *

_Hope that wasn't too bad a chapter. The idea was kinda stuck in my head so.... yeah. Next chapter from Antonio's POV~_


	6. After the End 3

_A chapter from Antonio's viewpoint._

When we got home Lovino cried. If he was prone to tears before the war then that was nothing compared to now. I can't say that I can blame him. If I had been through what he's been through… I don't think I would ever be able to _stop_ crying.

It started in the car. Silent pieces of glass trailing down his cheeks.

"What's wrong?" I'd asked. Like I always do.

He pressed a hand to his right eye, stopping the flow of water, "Everything," he said, "Nothing. Me. You. This whole goddamn world is wrong."

I carried him inside. The doctor said not to wear him out too much. Of course I've forgotten for how long he said to do that but I'm not taking any chances. The second we were inside the door he began to sob. I held him tight and sat down on the sofa, cradling him in my lap. Which is what I'm still doing. I don't want him to hurt anymore.

Sometimes when I think… I think about how I almost _lost him_, I want to cry too. At the hospital there was no brain activity for six days. People kept telling me over and over that if he stayed like that for over two weeks there was close to no hope.

Then he came back, my little Lovino came back.

But… it doesn't seem like I can fix every place he's been broken. Even though I'm trying so hard. We're both trying.

He's finally calming down, the sobs that once shook his body turning into silence once more. I look down at his face, smile, "All better now?"

Lovino presses a hand to my chest. He's been doing that a lot lately. I think its because he feels like he almost lost me too, "Yeah, I guess. Sorry."

"You don't have to apologize, Lovi!" I help him up and hand him his crutch, watch as he hobbles into the bedroom. He's so determined, but he seems so scared at the same time.

He might be the bravest person I know.

Maybe I'll tell him that later.

~*~*~*~*~*~

_"Romano! Romano where are you?!"_

_ Walking through this battlefield I have to say I'm glad I didn't join the war. Trenches cover the earth like some giant animal dug its claws in. That's where they're putting the dead. At least I'm not alone among all this destruction. People from Germany, and Italy… were all looking for Romano._

_ Pressing forward I shake away the tears that burn my eyes. If I'm crying I can't see and I won't be able to find him._

_ "Romano!" I call, even though it's probably useless. What are the chances that he would be able to answer me? "Romano!"_

_ I push my way through a couple of bushes and head into what was once a forest. Most of the trees are either burned or bombed away. Its… its horrible, its…!_

_ "Oh my god…" I whisper. _

_ I can't move for a second now that I've finally seen him. Putting a hand over my mouth, I close my eyes so I won't throw up. This horrible, horrible war!_

_ He's… he's so… god, god, god!_

_ Most of his clothes have been burned off. Only a few scraps are left; a sleeve with a shoulder, a pant leg, a belt. It lets you see the red marks of fire and ammunition underneath. And the blood… it's covering him everywhere. His face, his chest, his neck… the arm that's bending the wrong way in three different places._

_ "Romano!" I finally rush forward to him, the initial shock gone, "Romano, Romano!"_

_ I grab his shoulder. I wish I hadn't. The second I touch him his eyes snap open and he screams as if I just shot him. Panicking I let go and call for help, quickly turning back to him, "Romano, its me. It's Spain. The war's over, its-" _

_ I fall back as he swings at me with his good arm. I don't think he can even hear me, much less see my face. Flinching, I get back up as he lands on top of his broken arm and screams for all the world is worth. Screams until his voice starts coming out raw and damaged. His eyes are wild, mad and full of pain, tears brimming at the edges but never falling. His fingers dig into the ground as he thrashes, trying to get away from whatever enemy is haunting his thoughts._

_ Three men from the Italian army now join at my side. Without a word they take strips of cloth and tie his limbs to his sides so he can't hurt himself anymore. But he still tries to rock back and forth, tries to escape. Whether escaping the war or the pain, I have no idea._

_ As gently as I can I lift him off the ground, telling him that he's going to be all right. That I'm here for him now, he's going to be fine. He's so light. So incredibly thin. His skin seems like paper, dyed red and barely covering his bones. _

_ Romano finally recognizes my voice. He stops struggling, stops screaming, and his eyes go wide. I don't think he can see me, though. The pain is probably blocking his sight. Those tears finally free themselves from his eyes and wash some of the blood from his face. _

_ Later my tears finally fall, and wash his blood from my hands._

~*~*~*~*~*~

My eyes snap open and I sit up in bed, breathing hard. A cool breeze blows through the window, only opened a crack. I place a hand on my head and rub my eyes, "A dream?"

I look down at Lovino. He's sleeping; his face tense even now. Gently I toy with some of his hair, careful to avoid the curl, "No…" I whisper, "A memory…" Flopping down on the pillows I pull the sheets back up to my neck, "A very bad memory."

"N-no…"

I sit up again, "Huh? Lovi?"

His eyes are open, staring at nothing, "No, no, no! Don't g-go! Its burning, can't you see that?! I-if you go, y-you won't come b-b-back!"

Worry washes over me as I take him in my arms and once again onto my lap, _He must be dreaming…_ I think, _Another dream trying to make him loose himself. Trying to take him away from me._

With a start he wakes up, emitting a little scream and turning his head back and forth as if he doesn't know where he is. I kiss his forehead and rub little circles up and down his back. He wraps his arms around my neck and buries his head into my shoulder, taking slow and deliberate breaths. Neither of us speak as we wait for our demons to leave us be.


	7. After the End 4

_Another chapter from Antonio's point of view._

I wake up and decide I need to know more. More about Lovino and his dreams. More about this condition he's been diagnosed with; post-traumatic stress disorder. Because I hate feeling so powerless when he's crying in my arms and I can't do anything to make him feel better. I can't help him fight those battles every night.

Being extra careful so I don't wake him I crawl out of the sheets and slip on some clothes. Before I leave I kiss his cheek, because even now he's too cute to let an opportunity like this pass. He stirs but doesn't wake, and relaxes a bit against the pillows.

My cute little Lovi.

~*~*~*~*~*~

On the way to the hospital I can't stop thinking about ways I could make him feel better. Maybe if I buy more of his favorite foods. Yeah that's it. When I get back I'll cover the room in tomatoes so when he wakes up he can just reach out and have one. That'll be sure to cheer him up!

Pulling into the parking lot I run inside quickly. This place just never felt right to me. But then again, that's probably because this is where Lovino came when he was hurt. This is where I stayed for days on end wondering, praying even, that he would wake up. This is where he almost lost his leg.

I smile, just a bit. _This is also the first place he called me Antonio._

Finding the doctor was easy, although I had to wait for him to finish with another patient. When he's done he leads me into a separate room and asks what I want to know.

"Well, I…" I begin. Now that I'm actually here I'm not sure what to ask, "I want to know more about post-traumatic stress disorder. How long it can last and if there's anything I can do to make it go away faster."

"Hm," the doctor reaches into his desk and pulls out a file. In bright blue lettering I can see the words _Italia Romano (Lovino Vargas)_. He sees me looking at it and sighs, "I almost don't have to pull this out, you know. A case like his… Well its not one that's easy to forget."

I nod but remain silent, gesturing for him to continue.

"PTSD," he begins, "varies from person to person. May I ask what kind of symptoms you have observed?"

When did my throat get so dry? "He doesn't like to leave the house," I croak out, "It makes him nervous. At night he'll sometimes have dreams that scare him so badly he'll wake up screaming and crying. And when he was healed enough to walk he was too frightened to try for a while."

He flips through a few sheets of the file. Sometimes I think they do that just for show, "Yes, those are very common. Usually the length and severity of the disorder is based upon the actions that caused it."

Something catches in my throat, "R-really?"

"In the case of Mr. Vargas I believe it could take years to have him even close to the state he was once in. If you consider that a normal human would have been dead long before he was found… I suppose you realize how serious that must be."

"Yeah. I do," I whisper.

"As for helping him, keep things calm around him. PTSD is often accompanied with some form of an anxiety disorder so try to avoid new or stressful situations. Make him feel safe. At this point that's really all you can do."

Standing, I stuff my hands in my pockets, "Alright. Th-thanks for seeing me."

He reaches out a hand. A bit reluctantly I take it before heading back out the door.

"Good luck," he calls from behind me.

~*~*~*~*~*~

"Lovi?" I call, stepping inside and slipping off my shoes, "I'm back!"

No answer. Maybe he's still sleeping, "Lovi?" I call again, just to be sure.

"A-Antonio?"

A clatter comes from the direction of the living room. I start walking, trying not to let worry get the best of me. Just because Lovino sounded different didn't mean anything was wrong after all.

I round the corner to the living room and stop. Lovino's crutch is lying on the ground, obviously the source of the clattering sound from earlier. He's leaning against the arm of a chair for support, but it's his eyes I'm focused on. They're wide open and red, a slightly darker hue then the rest of his face. Smudge marks cover his cheeks where he obviously tried to wipe away tears.

"S-so where the h-hell were you?" when he talks its like he's trying to be stronger. Strong like he was before the war. I wonder if he knows he's not ready for that. I wonder if he cares.

For a second I can't speak, "I… I just had some errands to run, that's all. And you were asleep so I didn't want to wake you. You need your rest, you know."

"O-oh, is that it? I need my rest so that makes it okay for y-you to just disappear?!"

"But-" I stop, and think about what the doctor said. About how everything can seem blown out of proportion, dangerous, frightening. How nothing can seem safe, and nothing makes sense.

"I'm sorry," I say.

I think he's surprised at my answer. He seems stunned, then looks down at the ground. Neither of us says anything.

"Hey," Walking forward I take his hand and lean down so I can look in his face, "You want some pasta for lunch I'll make some for us."

With a very quick motion he wraps his arms around my waist, taking a deep breath. He nods and I smile, leaning down to get his crutch.

"You just better not burn it, bastard," Lovino mumbles on our way to the kitchen, still a bit unsure.

"Give me a little credit, Lovi. I've cooked for you before and you're not dead ye-!"

_Oh no, oh no!_ I think and try to save something I don't want to loose, "Lovino I'm sorry I didn't mean-"

"That doesn't mean you won't burn it," he says, slowly, carefully.

I'm silent as we finally get into the kitchen and I help him into a chair. We're both quiet. Both thinking.

"Lovi "

"What is it now " He's trying to sound like before, tough, defiant, but it just comes out cute.

I kiss his cheek, "You are the bravest person I know, and I love you more then anyone else in the world. And with us that's saying a lot you know."

"… I know… I love you too."

Tracing a finger over his forehead I trail it down to his lips, mine following close behind. He kisses back, and its like honey, like sugar, like anything else sweet and perfect. We pull apart. I grin.

"I love you, Lovino Vargas."

"You already said that, dumbass."

"But its true!"

He gives me a look that says, 'feed me' and I begin to cook, feeling for all the world like everything is back to normal.


	8. AFter the End 5

"Antonio?"

I'm washing dishes, trying to keep my mind off of anything. I know I offered to do them but there's something about just… standing there that I don't like. I feel like I'm out in the open, vulnerable. But I guess it always happens when I'm not moving, which isn't really the best thing for my leg.

"Antonio?" I call again as I put away the last plate to dry. He usually answers right away. Grabbing my crutch from where its leaning against the counter I start to hobble through the house. I'm sure its nothing, I'm _sure_. This house is too big anyways. I always said it was. He probably can't hear me, there's absolutely _nothing_ wrong.

Walking into the room we share I can feel myself relax when I see him, his back facing the door. He's reading something off a piece of paper. As I step forward he turns, smiles, folds the paper along well-creased lines, and puts it in his pocket, "Hi Lovi. Done so soon?"

"Uh, yeah," I feel stupid. Idiotic for letting myself worry. Sitting down next to him I sigh and toss my crutch to the floor. Sometimes I really hate that thing, but I can't get around without it, "What were you reading?" I ask as he lifts me into his lap, wraps an arm around my middle. Safe again. The only place I feel safe sitting still.

"This?" Antonio takes it back out of his pocket and stares at it as if he'd never seen it before, "Its nothing. Just some story someone sent me."

"Oh. Any good?"

"Um… I guess it is," he replies.

There's something going on with him. He's being weird about the paper. Almost evasive if I didn't know any better. Or if I hadn't been trained to notice these things for when the enemy tried to pass as one of you own, and you had to shoot or be shot first.

"Let me read it."

"Why? I don't think you'd like in, Lovino."

"Let me read it," I repeat.

"But you really wouldn't-"

"Give me the damn paper!"

I stand, breaking away from his grip, and turn to face him. For a second I almost loose my balance, but manage to stay standing on one foot. I hold out my hand, my face set, "Give me the paper."

"…Okay," Reaching out Antonio takes my outstretched hand and gently pulls me back into his lap. He hands me the sheet, and places his head on my shoulder, kissing my neck in the way that makes goose bumps run up my spine, "I love you, Lovi."

I don't answer; just begin to read the frighteningly familiar words on the page.

_Spain,_

_ How are you, you and your goddamn neutrality? Must be nice, not having to fight everyday. You bastard, I bet when you get this you'll be sleeping or picking tomatoes or something like that! But then again you're not going to get this because I'm not sending it. The only reason I'm even writing it is because pretending to write to you is better then talking to myself. And besides the troops I lead are always getting on my case about why I never write to anyone, not even my brother. Which is because whenever he writes back it's always about that potato-bastard Germany._

_ So anyway, the men were being really annoying tonight. They kept asking me to tell them about us. About the personifications. They kept going on and on about how rare it was to meet a personification, and how it was even rarer to meet one outside your own country and weren't they lucky to live in a country where there were two personifications? It was really pissing me off! So they asked me to tell them about the other ones. And finally I agreed, just to shut them up. _

_ I started with Austria, that musically inclined jerk. Always playing that piano and 'expressing his emotions' with it. What the hell is that about? But they said to stop, they wanted to here about our enemies first. So I told them about America, because… I don't know! He was just the first one who came to mind._

_ "Yeah so," I said to them, "America thinks that he's the best at everything. Always strutting around acting like a 'hero'. But you should watch out: no one thought he could win independence from England but he did."_

_ "What about England?" one of them said. I think his name is Citti. Good man._

_ I shrugged, "He's a prick who can't cook," I made a face, "You shouldn't have too much trouble with him. He embroiders and talks to air. Thinks he's seeing faeries."_

_ Everyone had a laugh at that. I bet you would have laughed too. But it's a good thing you're not here because then you would be hugging me all the time, and my men would loose every last ounce of respect they have for me. God knows I leave my pride at the front door every time I visit you._

_ "Honestly," I leaned forward and lowered my voice, as if I was letting them in on some secret of the universe. For all they knew it was. That's what makes them trust you, y'know? Tell them something that not many other people know. Maybe I don't have many friends but I know at least this much, "If you ask me America and England have more the just a 'good diplomatic relationship'."_

_ A couple of the men snickered, while others reached into their pockets for rosary beads. I shook my head, "Of course France is a different case. Man, woman, nation. He'll do anything as long as it moves and makes the right sounds."_

_ "Well, that's no surprise," that was Citti again, "Everyone knows the French are perverted drunkards. What kind of a soldier is more obsessed with color coordination then camouflage?"_

_ This of course raised a round of laughter from everyone else. Even the more religious members of our group chuckled and took their hands off their beads. I went to go take a sip of coffee only to find the cup empty. I sighed and stood, brushing the dirt and ash off my uniform, "None of this information ever leaves this camp, got it?"_

_ A chorus of 'yep' and 'yes' met my ears when I went into my tent. I was already to sleep when Citti asked if he could come in. Why am I even writing about this? It's probably pointless. But since your not going to read this I guess it doesn't matter._

_ He showed me a picture of his wife, of his little girl, "Just turned three the day after I left," he told me._

_ I nodded. What else do you do after that?_

_ "So. You have anyone special?"_

_ I felt my face go red. Luckily it was dark so he couldn't see, "Why do you ask?"_

_ "Seemed like you wanted to say more out there."_

_ I'm glad to have Citti on my team. He can read people. Comes in handy when we're interrogating someone. But I just wish he wouldn't notice everything._

_ I shrugged, "Not really. No one cares about me. Why would they?" I smirked, acting like it was some big joke that I was in on, "I'm something less then special. Every nation thinks I'm a hard to handle brat."_

_Citti sighed, "Alright. Guess I was just looking for someone to tale to about people we have waiting for us to come home. It's nice, knowing that. It keeps you going day after day."_

_ After that he left. And I started writing. To you. Or pretending to. Because maybe I can delude myself into thinking that you're waiting for me long enough to get me out of this hell. And because when I said that no one cares about me I was hoping that I was wrong, and that maybe you care. Not that I'm betting on it. Not that you'd care like I do._

_ What the hell? Good thing I'm not sending this and you won't read it._

_ Romano_

I don't know what to say. I don't know if I can even speak. Antonio pulls me closer, and breathes into me hair.

"Where did you get this?"

Antonio doesn't answer.

"Where the hell did you get this?!"

Once again I break from his grip and stand, reaching for my crutch. I feel myself falling, falling through space and through my mind, until he reaches out a hand and steadies me.

"Lovino, you have to be careful!"

"Shut up! I can do fine on my own!" I glare at him, daring him to make another move, "Where did you get that goddamn letter?!"

"W-will you sit down first?"

"No!"

He runs a hand through his hair, "Please, Lovi? I didn't mean anything. And its really better if you sit down."

Reluctantly I sit back down. He reaches for my hand but I move it away.

"I got it when the war was over, about two months after you disappeared. It was standard procedure to give whatever you had back to your brother. When he got it, he found the letter addressed to me and sent it."

"So… So all this time you knew?! While I was out there broken, while I was in the hospital trying to pull myself back together and when I was damn close to failing?! While I was going through all of that shit you knew that I-"

"What I knew," he wraps his arm around me, ignoring my struggles to get away, "was that when you wrote this letter you cared about me, and that made me feel so happy. Knowing something like that is always nice. But when we found you… you couldn't see how much you changed, Lovino. I didn't know if you still felt the same way. So I didn't do anything, because I didn't want to hurt you. Do you understand?"

I do, but I don't want to say it.

"I love you. Nothing on this Earth or anywhere else is ever going to change that."

He tells me what I want to hear. But I know he's telling the truth.

"What else have you been keeping from me?" I ask. I lean into his embrace, to worn out to do anything anymore, to worn out to be angry because as long as he's here, and he promised he wouldn't leave.

Antonio hugs me, and pulls us back so we're both lying down, "I went to the hospital once. To see if there was anything else I could do for you."

I feel myself tense up, "And what did you learn about me?"

He kisses my forehead, and moves so that we're as close as possible. I place my head on his chest, and listen to his heartbeat.

"I learned that the best thing I could ever do was love you as much as I love you now, for as long as you need and longer."

I hug him back, breathing in and out slowly. Realizing that this is what home is like.

"That man Citti?" I say, "He was killed two days later."

Running a hand through my hair, Antonio kisses me again. We remain silent for the rest of the night.


	9. The End of After the End

I've been noticing the sun lately. There's no where I have to be so I just let it wake me up in the morning. I can't even remember the last time I used an alarm clock. Then again, sometimes I fell like I can't remember anything past yesterday. Or maybe the day before.

In the morning after the sun wakes me up I have a routine. I blink open my eyes, wake Antonio, grab my crutch. Then we head out into the kitchen for breakfast. Today my routine is different for two reasons. The first one is kinda confusing; the second is something… good.

When I open my eyes, Antonio isn't next to me. The sheets are cold and the blanket is pulled up as far as it could be without waking me. Resting on top of his pillow is a small piece of paper, with a tiny blue string attached to it. I yawn and reach for it, wondering what the hell Antonio is up to now.

_Lovino-_

_ Good morning! Did you have a good sleep? I hope you did. A little while ago I decided that when the time was right I wanted to show you something. Something that tells you how much I love you. So when you wake up, just follow this string and I'll meet you when you're done, okay__?_ _I love you._

_ Antonio_

I stare at it for a few seconds before shaking my head. What the hell… Sometimes I don't even know what he's thinking. Oh well. Can't do anything about it now. So I grab the string, swing my legs over the side of the bed, reach for my crutch and-

And then I remember. A tiny smile spreads over my face. I stand, holding my arms out and wobbling slightly on my feet. I look around.

No more crutch.

That's the second thing that's different about this morning. Yesterday I got rid of that thing for good. I still limp a bit when I walk, and I can't go all that fast, hell that limp will probably never go away, but right at this moment it feels good to be under my own power, and only my own, for the first time in… a long time.

Still holding the string I follow it over to the dresser. Resting on top is a small rectangle of paper, held down by one of those glass orbs. Carefully I lift it and turn it over, revealing a Polaroid image. I touch the glossy surface, and look into a painting of my own face. Farther along the string there's another note.

_I found this painting a long time ago. I didn't tell you I had it because I thought it would make you mad. Looking at it now makes me happy, while I remember the time you little and I promised I would take care of you._

Shrugging, I place the picture back on the dresser and pull on some clothes. Slipping the picture into my pocket I head to the door, where another picture and note is taped to the handle.

This one's more recent. An older black and white, me scowling at the camera and holding an ice cream cone. After the first war. Before the second.

_Do you remember this, Lovi? It was so hot that day. I think you were mad at me about something, so I took you out for ice cream and you forgave me. You didn't tell me, but I knew you did. You stayed at my house that night. To tell you a secret, I snuck into your room and watched you sleep. You looked so peaceful… And then you whispered my name. What were you dreaming about?_

My face heats up, my fist tightens around the note. That… that…! I sigh. Whatever.

_…I think you were mad at me about something…_

I don't get mad as much as I used to. Not unless its something that's actually worth it. Its like what I think is important has changed. I smirk, more at myself then anything else and pocket the second picture. I guess it has.

I open the door and follow the string into the bathroom in the hall. It's a Polaroid again, taped to the mirror so the image is facing the glass. I tear it off, look at it for one second, and run to the toilet so I can vomit. The picture flutters to the floor, and my bruised and bloody face stares down the ceiling. I grip the sides of the toilet, and the image flashes in front of my face, the caption runs across my mind.

_In the ambulance, about ten minutes after I found you. Right then, there wasn't anything I or anyone could do for you. I was scared. I held your hand in mine._

Slowly I stand, and drag myself to the sink. The water runs, I breath heavily, look up into the mirror, at a yellow sticky-note, the message written in blue flare pen.

_I love you._

"Idiot," I whisper, "You idiot…"

Finally I leave the bathroom, the Polaroid still on the floor. Dead upon arrival. The blue string urges me forward, daring me to find out what comes next. I step forward, and let it pull me further.

Along the way more Polaroids hang off the string. No notes, and its all I can do to look for even a second. Time passing before my eyes. One image for every month. Slowly I watch the blood get cleared off, the bandages grow less, the bruises shift from an angry blue to black, and finally to a dull purple. I wipe the tears from my eyes, and tell my heart to stop pounding so hard.

It ends at the door to the living room. A small envelope rests on the floor. Placing a hand on the wall for balance I reach down and scoop it up, wincing as one of the muscles in my leg pulls the wrong way. I heft its weight in my hand before reading what Antonio scrawled on the front.

_All of these pictures are pieces of you. And each one of them means the most to me. I sound sort of cheesy, don't I?_ _But I have to say, that the image inside this envelope is the one I like best. Why don't you take a look? When you're done I'm waiting for you. (:_

Carefully, I break the seal and slip whatever's inside onto my hand.

Its kind of pretty, the mirror.

I look older. In regular years I'm supposed to be about twenty-two but now… Maybe I am older. Maybe all of this…_crap_ has somehow made me physically age. But I don't think so. Looking in the mirror I touch the skin on my face, running my fingers over the scars, running my fingers through my hair. The only part of me that's older is my mind, because I've seen things that no other war in history could have showed me. And finally, after all of these years…

I can accept myself.

I push the door open. Antonio's standing there, smiling as if nothing has happened. And suddenly, it hasn't. The war didn't happen, I was never in the hospital. It's a pretty illusion, and as Antonio steps forward one more tear falls down my cheek.

I grin, "Thanks, bastard."

He wipes away the water, "For what, Lovi?" he pulls me close.

"For saving my life."

Because I don't want to think about living forever. Because right now, I don't want anything but the _now_.

"Hey, Lovino?"

"Hang on a sec," Reaching forward I grab his shirt, and kiss him for all this _now_ is worth. We break apart, his eyes are bright, "What did you want to say?"

He smiles, like he did before that thing that happened. I smile, like I never would have in front of anyone before that thing that happened.

"Let's dance, Lovi."

Here comes the future.

* * *

So_ that's the end. I hope you liked it :3 Sorry it took so long to get out; school has been sucking away my life. And I want to thank everyone who reviews because I really like knowing what you think of my writing!_

_P.S. The first person who can name the artist of the song title I used for the last line wins a free fic with the prompt of their choice! (Bonus drabble if you don't look it up~)_


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